Can't Sleep At Night
by SchmetterlingMaus
Summary: In which Dean comes to his bed and John finds he can't tell him no. Dom/sub. Mature Adult Situations.
1. Chapter 1

It started with domestic bliss.

That was the first sign, almost the smallest of hints that Dean was in his downward spiral into self deprivation. Other hints followed; brief, but frequent eye contact and touches so light, they could've passed as accidental. He talked less and stayed up longer, almost all night.

Dean complicated everything. Giving his son what he wanted brought horrendous guilt. The worst of it was, John thought as he pulled the napkin onto his lap and watched Dean set the casserole dish on the hot plate at the center of the table, his son never got better. He would leave tonight, disappear for months and come back as if nothing happened. They would be fine for weeks and even months, but it was an unbreakable loop.

John scooped his food first as Sam came into the kitchen and dropped into a chair. The sixteen year old was vibrant. He lacked an interest in being a hunter, but he had the Winchester aggression that he used on the football field.

"I know it's a little early, but I want to hit up the library tomorrow and start researching universities with the best programs," Sam said. He heaped a third of the food onto his plate and immediately dug in.

"That's a good idea," John said. Sam openly held his gaze, then turned to look at Dean. A thought ticked the center of Sam's forward, making his brows furrow. How much were they actually hiding from Sam? The kid was far too aware of people.

Sam watched Dean closely. "Do you want to go to the library with me? Hot moms drop their children off for tutor sessions, so you can get a few numbers."

Dean chuckled, but the humor never reached his eyes. "Yeah, sure. I have nothing else to do."

He'll be gone in the morning, John thought when Dean's fingers brushed his while passing the bread basket. He couldn't save him. He never knew what was going on in his oldest son's mind. What triggered these bouts of reckless behaviors?

When dinner was over, he helped pile dishes into the sink and waited until Sam was in the living room with the television blaring. He watched Dean move the dishes around. He wanted to say something, anything, to find the connection that would make their plight less empty. He opened his mouth and Dean sensed a conversation coming. His shoulders bunched. In the last ten minutes he hadn't looked up.

John backed off. Anything he said at that very moment would prolong Dean's chance at immediately going into his cycle of recovery, no matter how short it was. It was another unspoken rule. No comfort. No questions. No concern.

He went into his bedroom and undressed, dropping everything into the clothes bin. He rummaged through his dresser until he found his favorite age, threadbare sweatpants. He'd been ready to give them away, except, they were the closest thing to nudity, since the fabric was too thin to hold body heat during the winter. His shirt was equally threadbare, ensuring that he could feel the heat from Dean's palms if he touched him. It was clothes on, all the time. It kept his mind from completely abandoning the fact that their nightly union was taboo.

Eventually, the television was turned off. He heard Sam and Dean talking in the hallway, and then there was silence. He waited. Sometimes it took hours for Dean to decide; and sometimes only minutes.

Tonight was becoming long. He counted from the start everything that plagued him. When Mary was murdered, the biggest aspect of his life was thrown into the hunt. There was always something to chase, to salt and burn. This became routine until a new personal demon popped into existence the year Dean turned seventeen. For the last four years they continued this route. This very skittish creature was utterly beautiful; a true closet submissive, with eyes that sometimes went utterly empty when he was in a manic episode.

The door slid open and Dean stood barefoot in the hallway, wearing sweatpants and a shirt. He didn't move and John didn't tell him to come it. If he stepped out of the room, it meant he'd be okay for another couple of weeks. If he stepped in and closed the door, it would mean they would go through this silent dance that left John frustrated and Dean 'missing in action' for an unknown length of time.

Dean closed the door. In the quiet, he could hear the young man breathing. Jesus. They were going to do this. He was utterly terrified by the amount of sheer joy erupting in his brain. His shaft hardened and pressed against the fabric holding it in. He was addicted to Dean's restless nights. It was wrong. Heaven help him, he knew he was wrong for letting this happen. They needed to find the root of Dean's real problems because he sure as hell wasn't contributing to the solution.

The bed dipped when Dean laid on his side facing away from him. John remained on his back and counted a Hail Mary for five more sins before reaching across the bed to tap his best kept secret's hip. Second most important decision for the night was quickly settled. Dean turned to face him and John stayed motionless. Dean threw a leg over his side, straddling him mid-air as John adjusted his cock so the strained fabric would keep his aching bulge flat against his stomach.

Dean lowered himself and searched for the angle he wanted. John swallowed the moan that quickly turned into a growl of pure pleasure. It was a burning furnace of heat between his thighs. He could flip them, take his child by the hips and demonstrate his long field of experience with the human body. No touching Dean, because that would be a rule breaker and Dean made him aware of the rules through trial and error. Tonight, he wanted no errors.

He despised that rule. The younger man clearly had no idea how to initiate in the hush of privacy.

John opened his legs a fraction wider for comfort. The adjustment forced Dean's hips wider which threw him off balance, drawing him forward. He instinctually breathed in the familiar scent of an auto shop and sun-baked leather car seats. Before he could kiss his parted lips, Dean pushed away from him, gripping his chest for leverage. It killed him.

His eldest son started rolling his hips in long, fluid motion, letting their arousal smolder. John's breath hitched. He bit back all the nasty things he wanted to whisper into Dean's ear; half promises and half unadulterated filth.

He tucked his hands behind his head to keep from responding to the nails now digging into his pectoral muscles. Their hips met with brutal, feverish proposal, yet it would never go farther than this, because that meant bare skin against bare skin. It didn't need to be spoken; Dean was afraid.

He wanted to adjust him, so badly. He wanted to take his hips and guide the movement because, though hard, Dean was careful never to get off. He would buck his hips, trapping John's shaft between his hot thighs and rubbing until that slow building, electric heat sparked in John's pelvis. There was no denying how hungry he was for this. John closed his eyes, letting the wave of pleasure draw through him. He arched in growing protest as he reached his climax.

Dean let his air out slowly and John knew, without a doubt, that Dean starved off his orgasm. He held back.

There was no touching. No cuddling afterwards. There were never any words.

Dean crawled right off the bed and silently left the room. John glanced at the alarm clock. He played with the idea of staying up to follow Dean and see where he went for the following months after they did this, but… he didn't want to risk making the situation worse if Dean spotted him.


	2. Chapter 2

The fight wasn't in their favor. The flashlight was long gone. The beam of light swallowed by the heavy brush made it impossible to find. Dean ran ahead in pursuit, leaving John with the spare weapons. He couldn't recall what Dean placed on his body before they left the cabin. "Damn."

He pulled up off the ground and dragged his hand over the back of his bloody mouth. His skin screamed in protest at the movement. His shirt was wet with his blood. He didn't need light to know the damage was extensive, but adrenaline kept the real pain at bay. Dean was swallowed by the eerily silent woods.

He swallowed his fear and took a few steps towards the direction he believed Dean went. He followed the broken twigs towards the river bed. The melted snow from the mountains raised the water a few feet in depth. There wasn't a bridge for another couple miles and no footprints in the mud. He turned to try and pick up a new path when a shadow caught the edge of his vision. Everything inside him said it was Dean sitting halfway in the water. Despite his inner body heat, his skin remained cold. He kept his gun, loaded with salt bullets, at his side as he trotted down the bank.

Dean should've heard him coming, but his son never looked up. The spirit wasn't known to possess people, but his son was surprisingly subdued. Something inside him broke at seeing the young man stare out at the rushing water, which would be freezing from the snow runoff. "Dean?"

He didn't acknowledge his name being called. It was too cold for him to be completely soaked like he was and he still sat with half his body in the water. The dark water only reflected the moon and not the possible injuries his son sustained.

"Hey Dean, are you okay?" He slowly circled down closer to the water so he could get a better look at Dean's face. The distance didn't answer the most important question; was he possessed?

When Dean turned to look at him, his eyes were dark again. His lashes fluttered, blinking back tears or drops of river water from his lashes, it was difficult to tell. The relief exhibited on his son's face left him crushed. "There was a lot of blood. I thought… Jesus…"

Dean turned back to the water. The white foam collecting on top of the rushing water held his son's attention longer this time.

"I must've blacked out." He didn't feel incoherent back in the forest when he was on the ground, like one did when waking up after passing out. One minute they were fighting the ghost and the next, he was alone. "It's too cold to be wet outdoors."

"Agreed." Yet Dean didn't move. He sighed and it rattled through his chest, making his shoulders shiver. He was wet, muddy and lethargic.

"Dean," John's tone pinched with impatience, and then it occurred to him, "How badly are you hurt?"

Dean huffed, verbally letting him know that he breeched a very silent line by asking. His movement was slow as he put one hand underneath him and kept the other tucked against his body. He stood for a mere second before his legs buckled and he was back on the ground. Under his breath, a stream of curses hissed from his lips. John bent down, ready to take closer stock of his son's injuries.

Dean shoved him back. "What are you doing?"

"Stop being obstinate, Dean. You're injured. If I need to take you to the hospital, let me know right now." It took willpower to keep his tone even. His son hit a very strong cord within his soul.

Dean rolled his eyes. "It can't be that bad. I'm not dead."

Dean became unreasonable and difficult to help. God, he hoped this wasn't a medical issue.

"Then get up because I need something for the pain," John said. Now that the adrenaline wore thin, he could feel the scratches on his chest stretch his skin when he moved. Despite his pain, he was completely aware of every tic that crossed Dean's forehead. The kid was complicated.

"You're getting weak old man," Dean gently teased as he placed his good hand on the muddy ground and hefted himself up. He held his breath and his eyes fluttered shut for a mere second. His face was pale in the spots not covered by mud. He tried to step up the hill and immediately went down. His curses weren't nearly as silent this time.

"You're going to need to trust me," John said.

"Trust you on what?" Dean questioned with a raised brow and tense shoulders.

John bent down and swooped Dean into his arms, bridal style. It pulled on his tired shoulder muscles and aching chest, but Dean's body felt pleasant in his hands and against his chest. He immediately caught the direction of those thoughts. His son never allowed more than a rough, quick pat on the back. After Mary's death, Dean grew distant, slyly slipping from hugs before the hugger could get their arms around him and never talking about personal matters that involved emotions.

"This is ridiculous. You're being an ass right now," Dean chastised as he started to wiggle. Panic with him was similar to a cornered bird. He was fussy at first, trying to be threatening with his words.

He could feel the energy that lent itself to panic with his son, because this was against the rules too. "It's cold and you're wet. I'm concerned you'll go into hypothermia."

"Stop trying to baby me," Dean growled.

"Dean," he warned, holding tighter. If his kid struggled, he'd drop him. Dean wasn't petite. His muscle mass made him solid, but it also aided in making his proportioned weight easy to carry.

"It's still out there," Dean said. His body shivered in his grasp, which he expected was due from the cold. He stopped struggling, but his fingers remained twisted in what was left of John's shirt.

Water quickly soaked into John's clothes. The mud made his boy slippery. It was good to touch Dean for as long as he would allow it; seconds, minutes or the whole walk back to the cabin. Twigs snapped under his feet and he tried to focus on his surroundings, but he was very aware of the solidness in his hands. "It's not our concern tonight. We both have injuries we need to take care of."

Firelight pressed against the thin, red curtains covering the cabin windows. His car looked dusty in the moonlight, something he hadn't noticed when they rushed out to the hunt. His entire body protested the movement as he climbed the two steps that led to the porch. A nice crosswind made the patio cool.

He adjusted Dean's weight so he could grab his keys from his pocket and Dean took that moment to pull free from his hold and lean against the wall. His kid was exhausted. It showed in the dark circles under his eyes. He was bruised and battered from this fight, but John wouldn't know how bad it was until the mud was washed off. Even then, he doubted Dean would allow for a thorough look over.

"Are we going back out?" Dean asked.

John pushed the door open. "Not tonight and maybe not tomorrow."

Dean hobbled through the doorway and John immediately bolted it behind them. The cabin was warm due to the well fed fireplace behind the screen. There were two beds, a television and small kitchen that held a two person table. The bathroom was added a couple of years back. Before then, it was only the wilderness and a shovel. The added plumbing made life pleasant. No more swimming in the cold river in order to wash off.

Dean's eyes were dazed and his jaw shivered, but he didn't complain, which didn't mean much. His son was hurt, but he had no idea how badly until he got the mud washed off. His currently concern was internal bleeding and hypothermia. He kicked off his shoes and pulled his shirt over his head. At the edge of his vision, he caught Dean attention following him. He was breeching another rule; clothes stay on. It was a stupid rule that only came in affect when Dean turned seventeen. Before then, in the middle of summer, they went without shirts.

John opened his mouth to tell Dean what he planned to do, then shut it. It wasn't dire to fill him in. Instead, he started towards the bathroom and Dean made a sound. He glanced back at his son who was staring hard at the door. Beyond the dark splotches of mud on his too pale features, was the start of a blush.

"I need a gun." Dean shifted ever so little in the chair and winced.

"Why?"

The shiver in Dean's body gave his voice a cracked, breathy sound. "In case it comes back."

"It's not going to get in. There is salt lined at every entrance. We're safe," he said. Dean's shivering rocked his body and John crossed the room, catching him by the shoulders and forcing him to look up at him. The movement made his pectoral muscles sting. He needed the sewing kit tonight. "You're safe. Okay. I'm not going to let anything get us."

Dean pushed his hands off his shoulders. "I don't need you to tell me this. I'm not a child. I don't need your reassurance."

That was a lie, so John walked into the bathroom to check the scratch. It went down over his chest, not deep enough to show flesh and muscle, but the cut burned and pulled on the muscle. He turned the shower on and came back into the living room, adding his clothes to the pile. Dean was taking care not to look at him, until he came over and Dean was forced to acknowledge him.

"I need to bring your temperature up. I can't tell if you're going through shock or the early signs of hyperthermia."

"Take your shower first and I'll take it afterwards," he said.

"I can't leave you in there alone. For this one night, can we set your rules to the side?" John asked.

Dean's brows narrowed. "My rules?" He rolled his eyes. "Dude, do whatever you want. I'm still showering when you're done."

"That's not the option I'm giving you, Dean. I will tie your hands behind your back if you fight me on this," he said, bending down and grabbing Dean's shoes, mindful that he couldn't walk and that something could be broken. He knew simple first-aid, but internal bleeding and fractures were another issue. In order to tell if anything was that serious, he'd need Dean naked so he could check for physical signs like bleeding under the skin. The biggest issue with cooperation was that his son preferred to pretend that he wasn't vulnerable in the slightest to anything.

He got both shoes off and gently felt along the right ankle, covered in grit and mud from the riverbank. His skin was ice cold. Dean didn't immediately react until he was feeling around on his other foot, up around the ankle and Dean pulled back. If he had to guess, it was a sprain. He'd get his ankle wrapped shortly. He stood, wondering if Dean would allow help undressing. He found it more exhausting knowing that this was going to be a war.

He reached down to grab Dean's shirt and got his hand slapped. It didn't hurt. It didn't even sting. He reached down again and this time when his son made a move, he caught his wrist and forced it at an angle that could send his son toppling out of the chair. In that split second, the much younger, trained fighter wasn't using his other arm to deflect the struggle. In fact, Dean rolled over pretty quickly. All he could hope for was another strained muscle and not a muscle tear or broken bone. John easily threw the younger hunter over his uninjured shoulder.

"Are you kidding me? Let go of me," Dean fumed like a wet, hissing cat. The cat in question was going to get a lot wetter. Steam rose over the shoulder curtain, warming the cold bathroom. He deposited Dean on the toilet. With the lid down, it made a good seat, but the white porcelain was quickly covered in mud.

"I don't want to get into the shower with you in muddy clothes," John said.

Dean bit his bottom lip and finally resigned. He pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it to the side, then one handedly fiddled with the button on his jeans. John bit back the burning desire to ask him what was wrong with his arm. It was a struggle, but he finally got his jeans unbuttoned, then realized he couldn't pull them off while sitting. John leaned down and Dean's eyes grew wide. He held his breath as John looped an arm around him, keeping his body close enough for leverage as he looped his fingers in the top rim of Dean's pants and pulled them down far enough that gravity took care of the rest.

John pushed the shower curtain back, allowing the water to spray over the edge of the tub and onto the bathmat before turning and helping Dean into the shower first. He sat him on the little shower chair he bought back when a nasty thigh injury made it difficult to stand under the water. Dean quickly settled himself and hugged his arms over his chest, still shivering. John reached around him to fix the water to make it hotter, careful to not let their bodies touch.

Unlike before, this wasn't an experience that afterwards, Dean would be able to walk away from. He stared at Dean's broad shoulders and tried to remember the story behind the tiny scar behind his right ear and the jagged scar that went down three inches of his spin. There was a scar that looked like a starburst on his right hip, bullet spray perhaps?

He wasn't sure how long they waited in the shower, but when the water ran clean for Dean and he thoroughly scrubbed with the washcloth and a bar of soap, John took his place under the water. Dean sat himself at an angle so he wouldn't have to accidently meet any part of John while he finished warming up under the luke warm water.

John cut the water off and got out of the tub first, throwing a dry towel at Dean. "I'm going to go change and I'll be right back. Don't try to move unless you think you can hold your weight on that foot."

Dean shrugged. John tried not to stare before he turned his back and left the room. He swallowed the lump caught in his throat, knowing this was something Dean would beat around in his head until he was thoroughly beside himself. He found his pajamas, nothing special this time and a plain shirt.

When they came out on the camping trip, it'd been "dad" this and "dad" that. Dean only called him John when it was going downhill in the younger man's mind. Therefore, there was no reason to believe Dean needed him to be someone more than his father at the moment. After tonight though, he could see how edgy Dean became from the few minutes they'd been separated. The younger hunter hadn't called him dad, not once since they'd been back in the cabin. Hadn't called him John either. They were walking on thin ice now.

When he was dressed, he turned back to the bathroom, but Dean was already in the doorway with the towel wrapped tightly around his waist and eyes downcast. There were more scars like lace over his chest and down his ribs as a reminder that their jobs were so deadly.

"Can you grab my clothes out of my bag?" he asked.

John grabbed Dean's bag and hauled it onto the bed before digging through it for clean clothes. "Do you need help?"

"I'm fine," Dean growled. He took the clothes and slammed the bathroom door shut.

If fine was defined as: Fucked Up. Insecure. Neurotic. Emotional.

Then yes, Dean was absolutely fine.


	3. Chapter 3

John swung the door open. It took a second to process that the tall, young man on his doorstep was Sam. The kid let his hair grow to his shoulder and he had gained roughly thirty pounds of muscle. He took in every aspect of Sam from his casual attire to the duffle bag in his hands. He wasn't a kid anymore. He looked every bit the hunter he refused to be.

"Are you going to let me in or do I need to camp out on the lawn for the next week?" Sam asked. The joke came out huffy and annoyed despite the easy smile. Fake ease. Sam hardly smiled in his presence. It was always a battle with the stubborn egghead.

John stepped back, allowing his youngest into the house. "You don't have your key?"

"It felt rude letting myself in after all this time," Sam said. It'd been two years since he ran off to the university. He lingered in the doorway, eyeing the living room with indifference.

"Are you moving back in?" John asked. He couldn't see Sam wanting to stay at the house with them. The sour glance thrown in his direction confirmed his opinion.

"It's spring break. I thought I'd check in on Dean." Sam dropped his bag against the wall and remained standing like a stranger despite being back in his old house. "Where is he?"

John was going to need a beer for this. It wasn't that he didn't love Sam, they just didn't get along. Dean worked nicely as common ground, but he wasn't so sure he liked the posture Sam took when he asked about his brother. Something in his behavior made him feel challenged; like he had to fight for Dean. It was the wrong sentiment towards his son; enough so, that it should've made him sick. It didn't. "Do you want anything from the fridge while I'm in the kitchen?"

"No," Sam replied. Short. Not so sweet.

John left the room, grateful that the wall closed the space off so that Sam wouldn't see his annoyance. He pushed his flat palms up against his chin, itching at his stubble in frustration. He didn't need Sam present when Dean was acting so erratic. The timing was off. He grabbed two beer bottles anyway, and returned to the living room, offering one to Sam along with the bottle opener. Sam took the offering and cracked the lid off despite not wanting anything just moments ago.

John took a seat in the old plush chair opposite the couch. He should ask something. A good father would, despite the years of separation Sam put between them. "How's it going with your studies?"

Sam shrugged. "Good. I've been interning. How have things been with Dean? Has Dean been okay?"

The question was all too knowing and John shifted uncomfortably. The camping trip three months ago left them in an awkward situation. It took a few weeks before Dean could meet his eyes, and call him something more than, sir. John understood that sentiment completely. He could read every thought that Dean tried to mask. It came from living in such close quarters for so long.

"He has his moments." John chose his words carefully. Lying wasn't an option, since Sam knew that Dean was bipolar and on the worst of days, manic. Beyond that, he wasn't sure exactly what else the university educated young man in front of him remembered or even saw those few days before Dean would disappear.

"I want to bring him back to the University. I have a psychology professor that I think could help him," Sam said. He straightened in his seat, ready to argue.

John didn't have the energy. "Sam, I'm glad you are here for your break, but this conversation about Dean is over."

The door swung open, truly ending their conversation when Dean walked in with grocery bags weighing both arms and a massive smile on his face. "I saw your car in the driveway! I can't believe you're still driving that old thing."

Sam instantly stood and walked over, taking a group of bags from Dean and lead him into the kitchen with conversation. Their voices were loud with excitement, mostly on Dean's end. The fact that they weren't whispering, was good. John buried himself into the cushion, fighting the strong urge to follow so that he could stake his claim.

How dare Sam walk in after two years and think he had a right to pull at Dean's heartstrings. He wasn't the one trying to keep Dean together and he sure wasn't the one holding the massive weight of guilt on his shoulders. He had no right thinking Dean should go with him.

They came back into the room, laughing at a joke John never heard spoken. Dean looked young again. His green eyes held an inner peace. "I'm going to shower. I'll be right back and then I can make dinner. I was going to do something simple, but since you're here, I found this complicated little recipe-"

"Dean." John shifted in his seat. The jealousy was instant. How possible was it for his youngest to convince Dean to go with him?

Dean stopped talking and turned to John. His smile never dwindled, though the pink immediately touched his cheeks. "Yah?"

"Go shower," John said. Damn, the thought of showering with him hit him hard. He liked the way the water rushed over Dean's bare shoulders, down the curve of his pectorals and flat stomach to his inner thighs where he stole a glimpse of the dark batch of curls and soft, uncut penis. Dean had been so shy at that moment, more so than he'd ever seen his kid before.

Dean threw Sam a smile, "Right! Okay! I'll sho… shower and then I'll just cook. It's great having you back home, Sammy."

When Dean disappeared down the hall, Sam threw him a determined glare. "I'm taking Dean."

John leaned forward, clasping his hands in front of him. "He's not a child."

"I don't treat him like a child, but he needs more help than you're able to give. Dean has a psychosis that I want to take a closer look at and help him overcome or at least manage it at the facility I work at for troubled submissives," Sam said.

"You know enough about PTSD and manic depression to help him?" he asked. He tried to get Dean into support groups and failed. He'd tried going to groups centered around family members dealing with these issues, but he was too embarrassed to talk about his deranged relationship with his child.

"I should. That's my profession. I've been studying under Professor Crowley, who has his own wing in the hospital named after him," Sam stated. Pride and self-confidence beamed off him in spades. Short of showing his report cards, the kid looked like he knew he had this profession down to a science.

"You changed your profession?" John asked. He shouldn't be surprised.

Dean tried hiding his issues, but when he spiraled, he spiraled hard. Sam, being observant, would've noticed anyway.

Sam shifted, uncomfortable for the first time since he walked into the house. He took a drink and leaned back into his seat, trying to get comfortable. "Yes. Psychology is more relatable, considering all the things we've seen."

"True, but I'm not sure why you think he's better off with you. Has he…" Did he want to ask? Did he actually want to know if Dean went to his younger brother for the same type of comfort he came to him for?

Sam glared at him and sat the bottle down before standing and pacing the room. "You aren't equipped to deal with a sub."

"You have no idea what I've tried to do for him. He acts out if I try to take any control." John also stood, but kept his beer. The glass surface was warming by the second, but he felt no desire to drink now that he was pissed. He should've seen Sam eventually coming back and trying this.

"Because he needs to be forced into admitting he's submissive or he's going to continue being self-destructive," Sam said.

"You think you can take better care of a submissive?" His voice quivered with anger. His youngest had no idea what it was like watching Dean spiral; to be so close and still unable to break through that mental barrier.

"Sub what?" Dean asked, coming into the room. He wore cargo shorts and a white tee-shirt under an open flannel top. His skin still glistened with moisture from his shower. He no longer seemed amused with either party present, which left John wondering how much of the conversation Dean heard.

"Dean, sit down so we can talk." Sam stood to the side of the couch and gave a small, demanding gesture.

Dean rolled his eyes and huffed, but didn't enter the room. "Chill, Sam. If you're hungry, I'll still cook, but I'm not going to sit here and listen to this conversation, which bites, by the way."

"Under the Westmen vs. Sanders law, you can be forced to take the submission test if I deem you unfit to continue in society on your own," Sam said.

He held his ground, much like he did on the football field. Yes, being a hunter, a fighter, a survivor was in his blood, but so different from John's eldest who actually hunted. There was pure, uncut domination in Sam. High testosterone? A burning desire to be successful and at the top of the world? One-hundred percent Winchester.

So where did he go wrong with the kid that actually did hunt? He let his breath out slowly. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. He was positive this was what made Dean start to openly act out, but if he really dissected each moment in Dean's life, the kid had always been subservient.

John stepped forward and Dean took a step back. "No one is going to force you into an institute, Dean."

Sam pulled smashed papers from his back pocket. "I didn't want to do this, but I went to the court house to get legal papers stating that Dean needs to take the test. You know what I found while I was there? You went to the court house five years ago and had yourself listed legally as his owner."

"Is this true?" Dean's eyes flicked back to him; if looks could kill.

"Dean, go ahead and make dinner. Sam will help you in the kitchen," John said. Someone would need to keep Dean busy while he packed their bags, because, without a doubt, he knew what Dean would score on the test. If that meant an evaluation period, then they'd both be at the hospital, since he had every intention of being with him the entire way through therapy and recovery.

"Are you kidding me? How can you legally register me as… as… Oh! My! Fucking! God! This can't be happening to me." Dean started to panic. His breathing grew eradicate.

Sam understood John's intention quickly enough. "Come on, Dean. I'm actually hungry and fast food doesn't cut it."

"You can cook for yourself, asshole! You think I'm going to pack my things and go with you so I can get labeled and collared? Get a few treats for behaving all proper for a society that deems itself dominant? Hell no! Screw that!" Dean hissed.

"Don't overreact," Sam ordered.

"You think this is overreacting? You have no idea how shitty things are about to get for the both of you!" Dean growled. He turned back down the hallway and before Sam could catch up, slammed his bedroom door. By the sound of the knob being jingled unproductively by Sam; it was locked.

John steeled himself for the inevitable as he stepped into the hallway and saw Sam with one hand flat on the door and the other on the knob. He knew this day would come, he just didn't expect he'd be sharing it with Sam. They were going to do this.

"I will break the door," Sam warned. His hair fell over his face as he spoke close to the wood.

"Save your strength," John ordered, throwing his ring of keys. He knew better than to verbally add more to the thought.

Sam snagged it from the air and selected the correct key, pushing it into the lock. He pushed the door, but it barely moved. "Shit. He blocked it. This is your fault. If you had done the right thing, Dean wouldn't be so disobedient right now."

"I'm not a dog, asshole." Dean yelled on the other side of the door. Something hit the wall inside the room and shattered.

"Be careful, Sam. He might have his guns in there and he sounds pissed enough to use them," John warned. He hadn't meant for Dean to hear any part of the discussion. Now, his oldest would be a nightmare to get to the institute.

"Where are you going?" Sam demanded.

John stopped in his bedroom doorway. "I'm going to pack, get a few things ready for Dean and then I'm thinking about making dinner."

"Are you suggesting that we just wait him out?" Sam challenged. He stood full height with his arms crossed.

John stayed neutral. "You have a more sufficient idea that doesn't cause damage to my home or to your body? Dean is going to fight tooth and nail. If you went on hunts with us, you'd know this."

Sam glared at him. "What about his window?"

"What about it?" John huffed. His youngest narrowed his eyes and John chuckled. "Sam, your brother isn't fourteen. He's not going to sneak out the window. Besides, his car keys are in the living room."

He ended the conversation on that note, entering his room. He threw his duffle bag onto the bed and started loading it with clothes and toiletries; the usual things he took on his hunts, minus the sheer amount of protective charms and weapons. When the bag was at its limit, he went back to his dresser and kneeled down, collecting an almost flat box.

He got the collar years ago, the third time Dean had come to his room. He'd known, had always known Dean was going to be submissive and in a world where that often worked against that precise minority, it meant Dean had to be claimed.

"Come on, Dean," Sam growled out in the hallway, banging his open palm on the flat door.

Dean's response was muffled through the wall.


	4. Chapter 4

The kitchen always felt empty when Dean wasn't present. Even with the warm Italian spices and hot buttery garlic filling the air, the world felt dimmer. They were settling in for a fight and usually it was Dean by his side when they were tracking and cornering their targets.

This was a different fight and this was a different companion.

He glanced at Sam and wondered what skills his youngest would bring to the game. The kid had been impatient, hot-headed, impractical, and stubborn. His analytical mind often dragged some of their cases too long.

As if feeling the weight of his father's attention, he looked up from where he'd been pushing his food around his plate. "We should be knocking that door down."

"Let's leave the impulsive behavior to your brother, okay. We don't need holes in my house. Dean will come out when he comprehends his situation."

Which wouldn't take long. He also recognized the very strong possibility that Dean would have a strategy to escape his fate. It was one of the reasons he trusted his eldest when it came to their hunting trips. Together, they always won. The prize in this situation would be the door and wherever he ran when he hit his manic episodes.

"We're going to just sit here and wait?" Sam pushed his chair out from under the table, but didn't move.

As if on cue, door hinges strained as the bedroom door opened. It was the sound they'd been waiting for. Sam was on his feet in seconds, forcing John to drop his fork and follow. He understood Sam's concern, but the situation with Dean was fragile.

He caught Sam's arm and forced him back into the kitchen. He worried very little about possible bruising. "If you'd taken your training serious, you'd know the benefits of patience."

It wasn't meant as a lecture, but any skilled hunter knew that patience won the hunt. Right now, Dean wasn't much better off than the things they hunted; erratic, exhausted and limited in resources. But Dean was astute and skilled.

"You can't be serious," Sam hissed. The young man yanked from his grasp and stepped away from him, shoulders back, chin down and arms raised, ready to throw a punch. At least he hadn't forgotten everything.

The door closed again, this time, John presumed it was the bathroom door. The water ran. Shower.

John nodded in approval and indicated they should sit back down. He didn't take his seat until Sam did. "Do you remember back when you were a kid and spent the summer trying to tame the wild steed Bobby brought home? It took you almost a year but you finally got the chance to ride it. Patience and perseverance."

Sam looked far more hesitant. His food remained barely touched. "You're comparing my brother to a feral animal."

"Where's the difference?" John asked. He studied his youngest because there was nothing more important in the kitchen.

Sam dark eyes swam with suspicion. It was the same look the kid always gave him when he questioned John's orders. Time hadn't changed that.

John crossed his arms and regarded him. "Do you think this is easy for me? We're talking about my son. I don't even know how this started and why did he choose me?"

"Because you're the protector, the leader… the hero in this strange, godforsaken nightmare we were introduced to as children." The resentment was clear.

The conversation lulled when the pipes stopped humming with water. John kept a light hold on his fork and his feet braced, ready for movement if Dean decided to go straight for the door. It took a few more minutes before his eldest poked his head into the kitchen, fully dressed in jeans, a plain white t-shirt and a plaid long sleeve shirt.

Dean dropped his duffle in the doorway. "Are we heading out or what?"

"Sit down and eat," John said. He knew Dean's game. God, he loved his boys, but Dean was going to make this difficult.

He took one look at them and rolled his eyes. "I wanted a hamburger once we were on the road, but this is fine too."

He took a seat at the table and loaded his plate. The silence stretched. Dean kept his attention on his food, or roughly his stomach, as he took helping after helping. It wasn't like him, but John suspected this was Dean's way of procrastinating on the true topic.

"This is ridiculous. I don't know what you expect will happen. I'll take your stupid test and you'll realize this was a waste of time." Dean broke the silence. Despite his words, he didn't look up from his plate. With his hair damp and his shoulders pressed back, hostile, he looked so young and vulnerable.

"It won't be alone. We'll be with you the whole time," Sam said. He started to reach for Dean, but John cleared his throat and Sam stopped moving.

Dean looked up at John, his green eyes lit with uncertainty. He hated when his eldest had that look. He wanted to pull him into his lap and comfort him like he had when Dean was a child, but even then, the achievement was often fleeting. Dean hardly allowed himself to be held. That would be the first thing to change in their relationship. Cuddle time was necessary.

"We'll discuss this when you're done eating," John said.

Dean sighed melodramatically, but took his time. It gave John and Sam time to clear the table and put the dishes in the washer. Dean reached for the pitcher to pour his fourth cup of tea and John caught the handle first, pushing it out of reach.

Dean had stalled long enough.

Sam whisked the remaining dishes off the table and finished the kitchen chores. Dean clasped his hands against his lap, under the table and looked even smaller without anything to do.

His eldest stiffened when he stood behind him. "Put your hands flat on the table and keep them there."

He expected Dean to argue, even stand and make this a struggle. After a strained couple of seconds, he did exactly as directed. His full attention was on the table now.

John brought the black, leather collar around his son's throat. He didn't shy away from brushing his fingers against his warm skin, tanned from the road. Dean's fingers twitched, then curled into fists. Still, he didn't move. He didn't try and fight as John slide home the latch and tested to make sure it didn't obstruct his breathing.

"Very good, Dean. You're behaving excellently." John encouraged with a gentle rub at Dean's shoulders.

"This is humiliating," his eldest grumbled.

John ignored the comment. "You need a safe word."

"You can't let Sam walk into this house and change the structure. I don't need a collar… or a safe word, which is stupid by the way." Dean's hands slid to the edge of the table. It'd be easy for him to shove back and knock John off balance, but He Sam remained against the doorframe, blocking the only exit.

"Chose a word, Dean, so we can start working on some of your bigger issues." John worked his fingers into his son's tight muscles.

Dean lowered his chin to stare at the table, giving John a beautiful view of his neck. He liked this position. It made Dean almost appear docile. Appearances were nothing but deceiving.

"I know what this means and I'm not for it. If you want me to comply, then you need to agree that we're not going to the hospital," Dean said. He didn't move his shoulders, nor did he try to raise his head. His actions didn't equate his words.

John slid his hand down his son's arms and nudged him to stand. "There is no room for discussion We aren't putting your mental health at risk anymore."

Dean stood, but instead of moving in the direction John indicated, his eldest took a step back towards the cabinet counters. "I'm not a good sub."

"I'm a fantastic trainer," John promised. He stayed neutral and calm, watching Dean for his telltale signs of stress.

Dean met John's eyes and sighed. Like this, Dean looked a lot younger and unsure. "John, this is… is a really bad idea. You don't understand. I don't know how to do this."

"That's not true, kid. You handed that control to me a long time ago. So start walking." John nudged his chin towards the living room.

Dean slid away from the cabinet, eyes staring straight ahead. His chin was raised; pride. He bent down to grab his bag, but John stopped him and handed the bag over to Sam. His eldest watched the exchange looking mildly anxious to jump in.

"Fuck! What do you want from me?" Dean pushed both hands through his hair as if that would clear his thoughts. He circled once as if deciding where to run.

"You trust me, right? I have always been there for you. We've gotten into some tight situations, but nothing I can't fix." John waited. To his own credit, Sam did too.

"God, I can't… I just can't." Dean's words were barely audible as he turned his back on them, but he didn't leave the room. "Sunbeam."

When John didn't respond, Dean turned to look at him.

"Did you hear what I said? Sunbeam." Dean remained pensive. His attention drifted to from John to Sam and then the floor. He adjusted his stance. It was clear he was trying to rationalize the situation.

John smiled, reassuringly. "Please strip and join me on the couch."

Dean glared at him. When it was clear that two against one wasn't going to work in Dean's favor, he kicked off his shoes and flannel. He unzipped his pants and slide out of them, tossing them to the side. He waited a second before yanking his t-shirt over his head. There were scars of varying sizes on his chest, torso, legs and arms. The long and straight scars from his wrists straight to the bend of his arm weren't made from anything they hunted.

"Everything, please," John said.

"I'm not… This is a little-"

John crossed over to Dean, catching him in the back of the neck. Dean tensed for a second before the tension leached from his muscles. "It's okay. You're safe with me."

Dean's cheeks turned pink as he shimmied out of his boxers and dropped them with the rest of his clothes. He cupped his hands over his cock. He looked extremely vulnerable.

John pulled his shirt over his head and shimmied out of his jeans. Dean looked even more uncomfortable until John took a seat on the couch, still wearing his boxers. He'd never comforted his eldest with so few clothes on. "Move it."

Dean glanced over at Sam. "This is weird enough without Sam just standing there."

Sam shrugged out of his shirt and kicked off his shoes. Dean quickly raised a hand.

"Okay, not what I meant. Like you should leave now or something." Dean turned away so as to not face Sam.

Sam remained stoic. "Not happening. I'll do anything to make you better and that includes discipline."

"I can't believe this is my life right now," Dean grumbled towards the door, keeping his back against the wall to shield his pert ass from the room. "I can't believe I'm even doing this."

John clapped his knees, gaining Dean's attention. "Now, Dean. I really don't want to start this off with discipline."

Dean's eyes widened. "You can't be serious."

John waited until Dean dragged his feet across the room to stand in front of him. A second later, his son eased down onto his lap, stiff as a board. He kept his hands in his lap, afraid to touch John in any way, but he stiffened farther when he realized he was sitting on his dad's semi-chub. John wrapped an arm around Dean's waist and the other around his arms, drawing his boy up against him. Skin on skin, this was something Dean was adamantly against, but it was happening now.

"Sam, take the screwdriver I left on the kitchen counter and unscrew the door hinges," John said. He expected Sam to fuss, but was surprised when his youngest disappeared into the kitchen, reappeared for a minute, then disappeared into the hall.

Dean's cheeks turned pink and he looked down at his hands. "You're going to let Sam come home and disrupt our peaceful lives?"

"You know there was nothing peaceful about our situation." John cupped Dean's cheek and tilted his head up from where he rested his head on John's shoulder, but Dean's eyelashes fluttered closed. "Don't forget your safe word."

"You proved your point. Okay. I'll go to the hospital." Dean tried to pull his chin from John's hold so he could break eye contact.

"Dean," John's tone made the sub hesitate. "It's not about the hospital. It's about how you adjust being a sub. No more hurting yourself. If you need pain, I'm the one you come to."

John tucked Dean's head up under his chin and was amazed that his trained hunter allowed it, but he could feel Dean contemplating. Sam stood hesitant in the doorway watching them. It wasn't over. Dean would struggle through this process and though wild stallions usually did well with one trainer, he had a feeling he was going to have to accept Sam's presence in the house to keep his trained little hunter from surprising him.

oOo

John waited until his sub's breathing, steadied. He tilted his head down, seeing that Dean's eyes were shut. In the near silence of the room, with Sam keeping him company with very little interesting points, his eldest had finally fallen asleep.

"This is the longest he's ever let me hold him," John admitted. With one arm draped around Dean's shoulders, he held his kid. Dean's legs were pulled up close, as if he were cold, or at least trying to protect his dignity.

"I'm jealous. He's never allowed me to hold him, even when we were kids and he had nightmares." Sam said. In truth, they both knew Dean wasn't the type to just run to someone for comfort.

"Are you staying, Sam? Because if you aren't, you can't be a part of this." John shifted. The muscle in his thighs ached from staying in the same position for hours.

"I still have my internship and classes. I planned to bring him back to the hospital to unlearn some of his bad behaviors, but if you plan to work with him, I'll stay on board, but we need a compromise because I plan to finish school." Sam met his eyes with a confidence he always possessed. On or off the field, Sam was a born leader.

It made John confident that when he died, Dean would still be taken care of. He adjusted the small pillow under Dean's head, resting on John's lap. Like this, under the spell of sleep exhaustion, Dean's features softened. His breathing was even and his lips slightly parted. It was too warm in the house for a sheet, so he didn't offer one to cover his son. It was time his son got use to being emotionally and physically vulnerable so he could start healing.

"Take my place for a moment." John motioned for Sam to come over.

Sam helped support Dean's head and shoulders as John slipped free. Sam took his place with one large hand resting on Dean's shoulder the way John had been holding him. The other continued drawing lazy circles over Dean's scalp the way John had.

Sam's large hand rested on his brother's head before gently pushing his fingers through his short spikes. "I've always wanted to protect Dean, but his trust issues made it difficult getting close."

"It's not you that he doesn't trust." John said. When Sam remained quiet, he realized that his youngest might not fully understand. "He has a hard time trusting himself."

Sam nodded. This might have been the closest Dean came to being cuddly. His youngest could handle things if Dean woke up. It's not like the brothers hadn't argued in the past, but Sam was assertive enough to put Dean in his place.

He moved into the hallway, amazed at how quickly Sam had taken all three bedrooms and one bathroom door down. The doors leaned against the wall with the hinges and screws in a pile. The bathroom and walk-in closet door in his bedroom also leaned against a wall in his bedroom. There was nowhere for Dean to barricade himself, but he was still a flight risk.

John grabbed some clean clothes and moved straight into the bathroom, turning the hot shower knob all the way up. He was ready for this. He knew it would come down to this, but he was still anxious that Dean was so self destructive that he'd never allow nature to take its course.

He showered quickly. The minute the water was off, he could hear the raised voices. One high in panic, the other a deep rumble trying to sooth. John wrapped the towel around his waist. Water still dripped down his neck and back.

"Calm down, Dean. Jesus. Nothing is happening to you." Sam had his long arms wrapped around his brother. Dean tried to wiggle free, forgoing modesty to push free.

Maybe Sam could make this work. He wasn't using excessive force, but he wasn't letting Dean have his way either. His eldest struggled like a three year old trying to get out of his parent's arms. Sam eventually shifted his weight so he could lean over Dean, pinning the smaller man to the couch.

"Dean, listen to me. You're okay, but this behavior will have consequences if it continues." Sam's voice was calm and gentle, spoken directly over Dean. His eldest went still.

"Can you get off me? This is creeping me out," Dean hissed back, calmer this time.

John came into the room and sat in the chair across from both his sons. Dean took one look at him, naked with only a towel, turned red in the cheeks and diverted his attention. "We should continue this discussion now that we're starting this."

"I know the stupid rules okay. I have friends. I know how this works in our society," Dean fumbled to keep the topic from landing where it should.

Sam hauled Dean upright and pulled him into his lap. His eldest was stiff as a board, afraid to lean his back against Sam bare chest. His hands rested in his lap, covering himself and his blush spread over his chest where he overly exerted himself.

"When we're in public, you'll call me sir, master or daddy. That will be the same for hunts," John said.

Dean's attention snapped to him. "You can't be serious. The guys are going to know. They'll judge me."

"Then let them judge, Dean, but this is how it's staying. When we're at home in a scene, you will call me daddy. Is this clear?" John asked.

"Clear as a mirror." Dean grumbled.

"I'll have Doctor Crowley come and do his evaluation. We can get the paperwork notarized here, which would include a few behavioral correction exercises," Sam said.

John had to agree. They couldn't risk Dean running away. He'd come back, he always did, with more bruises and hidden cuts. The skin under his eyes would be dark from a lack of sleep and he'd smell like he lived on the street during that time. He couldn't risk this.

"Can your professor get here early tomorrow?" John asked. He crossed over to the other side of the couch and pulled Dean's legs into his lap. Dean didn't struggle too long when he realized that excessive movement would make the knot in the towel come loose.

If Dean knew anything, it was self preservation and he didn't want another naked body this close to his, especially of a man he had a very complicated relationship with.

"He could get here tonight if I asked. He's very passionate about this." Sam leaned down, grabbed the pillow off the floor where it was tossed during their scrape. He placed it on his lap and let Dean readjust himself.

Dean was going through the motions, but he wasn't on board with the process yet. John expected this, but his eldest was in the right frame of mind to be conditioned.

"The both of you can knock it off! I'm not going to sit and get evaluated by some hoity-toity professor who probably gets off on this crap. I'm not someone that needs to be treated with kid gloves," Dean argued. His torso had the length of the couch to sink into, but he remained stiff and ready to fight.

"You'll be happier this way, Dean. Trust me."

"Don't tell me what I'll be!" Desperation touched Dean's tone. "I'm not calling you daddy, Sam."

Sam chuckled. John found humor in this too. Dean didn't exactly look like he was going to punch anyone, but he knew better than to trust his eldest. Sit and wait, that's what Dean was used to. He was a hunter through and through. He knew how to wait for an opportunity. They had to stay vigilant and not give him the chance.

Sam shrugged. "Sir in public. You can still call me Sam in private."

Dean growled, frustrated. "This sucks."

"In a few weeks, it will feel natural," John promised.


	5. Chapter 5

The doorbell rang, startling John awake. Dean was still snug against his side, head tucked into his shoulder, breathing soundly, but not snoring. Sam, barely anymore awake than John, roll out of bed.

The house was quiet until his youngest answered the door. His voice remained a low rumble with the stranger. A second later, the door shut, but the talking continued. Professor Crowley? Sam wasn't kidding about his professor's promptness.

John gently extracted himself from under Dean's head and immediately missed the delicate balance of trust he earned last night. With any luck, their guest would help them progress with this new relationship.

He pulled his jeans on and came out into the living room to meet the man. Professor Crowley was a very distinctive figure standing in black dress pants and a black, long-sleeve button shirt. His hair was spiked and his beard carefully manicured. His nails were short, squared-off and clean. He carried a polished black briefcase that matched everything else about him.

"Good morning, Mister Winchester. Sam has told me about your circumstances." Instead of offering his hand, Crowley dug through his briefcase, pulling out a stack of papers. "I'd like to see our young subject."

"Of course," Sam said.

John fixed his youngest with a stare that Sam didn't notice. He'd never seen Sam so eager to follow instructions. It stung.

John indicated Crowley should follow him into the kitchen, where he proceeded with the coffee pot. By the time it started to trickle, Dean rolled into the kitchen, drowsy and annoyed. He managed to throw on a pair of boxers and a shirt, possibly the only thing Sam allowed for this.

"So you're Professor Crowley, the relationship professional?" Dean positioned himself so he had a clear view of everyone in the room. He was also the only one in boxers and a shirt, but he managed to look unaffected.

"I am," Crowley answered.

John watched amusement cross the professor's face as he took Dean in. Dean flipped off the man, then turned to walk out of the room; except, Sam was there and he ran straight into his brother.

"Dean," Sam scolded, blocking Dean's retreat.

Dean gave a halfhearted struggle to escape his brother's grasp. Maybe his situation hadn't fully sank in. "I'm not going to sit around and be judged by a douche bag with a briefcase."

"I'll take it from here, Sam." When John took Dean's arm, Dean's struggle became real because he knew no amount of fussing would sway his dad. "Dean, you will behave."

 _ _Or else__ went unsaid.

"I'm wearing your collar. Isn't that enough?" Dean remained still, caught between the counter and John's hips. If his kid tried too much, he would feel John's semi-hardness straight through his jeans. It was almost as if Dean suspected as much and went still.

"No, Dean." He wanted to address so many things, but the distressed look in his son's eyes stopped him.

"If you continue this—" Dean nervously licked his bottom lip, "if this continues, the relationship between a dom and a sub will change everything going on right now."

He meant the hunting. Dean didn't have to say it, but he knew that's what he meant. "It will change things, hopefully for the better. No more disappearing for months."

"That's the one thing you focus on?" Dean's eyes narrowed. He liked how his son had to look up at him.

He pulled Dean onto his lap and Dean immediately tried to stand the second his butt came into contact with John's hardness. The heat and weight of Dean only made him harder, stirring the primal instincts of a man who was teased too long. He couldn't deny that he liked having his kid sitting in his lap, the heat of his body and the scent of his skin. He was bigger than Dean, had always been bigger than both boys until Sam went off to college and obviously hit the gym.

"If you make me spill my coffee, I will spank you right here in front of our guest," John warned. He wanted to bury his nose between Dean's shoulder blades and smell his kid, mark him with kisses and hickies. He had to tell his racing heart that there was time now. The situation was finally going to be under control.

Dean went still, if it was self-preservation or because he was afraid to be touched so intimately, it was hard to tell. Crowley, however, didn't seem at all surprised. His dark eyes moved from one member to the next.

"Dean, you're going to answer this questionnaire as truthfully as you can," Crowley said. He sat the sheets of paper in front of Dean with a pen.

His son huffed, taking the pen and pulling the paper closer. "I'm sorry Mr. Crowley, that my brother has completely wasted your time. If you need this answered so you can go back to the rock you obviously crawled out from under, I'll be glad to put this to rest."

Crowley huffed, then met John's eyes as Dean hunched over the questions. "Have the two of you been sexual together?"

Dean quickly righted himself. "That is a super personal question asshole. Why don't I walk into your classroom and interrogate your personal life?"

"I'd welcome that Dean, seeing as you fit the criteria of the patients my therapy focuses on," Crowley said.

Dean cursed under his breath and turned back to the questions. He went quicker now, ticking off the answers and cursing none-too-quietly. John glanced over to Sam who also watched him.

"The answer is no." He could hardly call Dean brushing up against him really a sexual thing. Dean lacked the discipline needed for the experience to be anything more than purely a comfort thing. Some people hugged stuffed animals. Some people had soul food. Dean took pleasure in knowing that the person he loved wasn't an illusion by grinding against him until John orgasmed.

"Done," Dean sang, slapping the pen down and nearly tossing the papers across the table. The unstapled sheets swung wildly around Crowley.

The professor did nothing to catch them. In fact, he didn't even look alarmed by the outburst. "Congratulations, Mr. Winchester. Your son is definitely a submissive. I will get the paperwork for you and Sam to sign. Dean will have to go get his identification card updated and I do suggest you and Sam take some co-ownership behavioral classes to deal with the issues you'll be facing with Dean Winchester."

Dean stood up so quickly that he did knock John's arm, spilling his coffee. "Fuck you asshole! You don't know me. You know nothing about me! I could string you up right now without a problem. I'm not submissive."

"I can offer you a little basic training, but I do suggest the hospital due to your son's highly volatile behavior and past transgressions," Professor Crowley continued as if Dean hadn't threatened him. He didn't know how dangerous Dean truly was.  
John and Sam knew.

"Transgress this!" Dean lunged across the table, but John and Sam were faster.

John grabbed Dean's arm and Sam grabbed his torso, yanking him to the floor and between them. Dean was breathing hard, struggling to get out of their hold, and though it was exhausting to go up against his eldest, with Sam's help, the struggle wasn't physically damaging to his sub. Dean carried on longer than he would have guessed, but finally tired himself out, letting his back fall against John's chest. John tightened his hold, not trusting Dean's sudden docile behavior.

"He didn't look at my answers. None of them were about submitting. I'm not a sub. I don't want to be in the registry as submissive. They aren't going to understand… sir," Dean grumbled.

He knew what Dean meant, about the other hunters. He couldn't hunt by himself now. He couldn't be at the bars alone. His life would change, but it would be for the better if he could convince Dean to stop fighting this.

"We're going to continue this conversation in the living room." John addressed Crowley who still sat in his chair watching the family dynamic. Interest had genuinely peaked on the professor's face.

Dean started to welt in John's arms, shrinking in on himself. "No. Nooooo. I'm not ready."

John pulled his son closer, leaning down to nuzzle his child's hair. "We talked about this, Dean. I told you not to spill my coffee."

"Is this really about the goddamn coffee? My life is falling apart!" Dean was breathless. The pulse on his neck beat rapidly.

John nudged Dean to start moving. When he didn't, he turned Dean around and picked him up. Dean's breath hitched. For a second, a very brief second, his eldest let his hands linger on John's shoulders before he slid his hands around John's neck and his legs tightened around John's waist. He caught something in his son's eyes. Something that spoke volumes on his insecurity and need for reassurance.

"Dad?" Sam righted the chairs they knocked over when they jumped up to catch Dean.

"He'll be okay, Sam." Crowley cut in. They both turned to him, almost forgetting the English man sitting in their kitchen.

"The living room," John repeated, though in truth, he'd gladly stand a couple minutes longer if it meant Dean would let himself be held like this.

He moved into the living room, let Dean unwrap his legs, then sat them both down on the couch. When Dean started to slide off him, he took that moment to pull his son flat over his legs.

Dean immediately started struggling. "Come on. Really?"

John tightened his hold. "You fight this and I'll restrain you."

"You're going to spank me like a child?" Dean's voice didn't waver, but his tone was pinched. He went rigid with nerves.

"We're going to be doing a lot of things Dean, but right now, yes, I'm going to spank you," John answered.

"I'm not a show pony. You can't do this in front of them," Dean growled. He started struggling again.

"Sam." One word from John and Sam was there, catching Dean's wrists and with gentle pressure at his neck, forcing him to relax into the couch cushion.

The first contact of his hand flat on Dean's ass, spurred his kid into motion, struggling again as John continued the spanking. Dean went still after the first couple of sound hits, so John continued until the surface of his palm went from a warm tingle into a slow growing numbness.

"I'm so proud of you, kid. You took that really well," John said. He drew his palm over Dean's pert ass, moving the fabric of his boxers with the effort.

"John, stop!" Dean's struggle was real. He jerked so hard trying to get out of Sam's hold that Sam had to lean in, applying more of his body weight to keep Dean from hurting himself.

"We talked about the rules, Dean," John said. He should've known that Dean would take the punishment, but not the aftercare. He continued to rub circles across Dean's ass, feeling the warmth emitting through the thin fabric of his boxers.

Dean grunted and growled. The kid reverted to a God-Damn animal in his own house, kicking and screaming. After a few more minutes passed without getting what he wanted, he calmed, but the anger and fear was still there, lingering in his tone. "Dad-daddy, please. Please stop."

It broke John's heart as he stopped rubbing. This shouldn't have been the part that Dean had the most trouble with. He let his son sit upright, but forced him to remain on his lap, which kept his eldest stiff. It wasn't until Dean was upright, not looking at anyone in particular, that John realized Dean had been crying, but it wasn't during the spanking… So it must have been during the gentle touching.

Crowley had a yellow legal pad in his lap as he wrote notes. "Right. Well. As I was saying, you do have a submissive with behavioral issues on your hands. I would suggest you come down to the clinic for a week, so we can sort this behavioral issue out."

Sam came around and took a seat on the couch on the other side of Dean, dropping a large hand on Dean's exposed knee. Dean shifted a little, but there was no room for him to go anywhere. John couldn't help but stare at that big hand. It was nearly as big as his own. Sam grew into the man John had been at his age, but unlike Sam, he'd been raising two young boys.

"Do you think a week is going to be long enough to reset Dean's mindset?" Sam asked.

"Stop talking, Sam. You aren't helping the situation," Dean growled, immediately trying to jerk to his feet. Both John and Sam prevented that, pulling his son back onto his lap. "I want another evaluator! You're only doing this as a favor to Sam."

"Dean," Sam warned, sounding very much like John… which surprised the hell out of John. "You're submissive. If you weren't, dad never would've gone down and gotten himself placed in the records as your permanent guardian."

"This is messed up. You know the city will never allow me to get a job without your permission. I can't just rent an apartment and be on my own. This is a nightmare." Dean attention was on him for a second, holding eye contact and breaking it just as quickly.

"I want to talk about the importance of intimacy and how climaxing together can help secure a bond and improve the value of a submissive," Crowley said.

Now it was John's turn to feel hot. Dean went still. He could only image what conclusion Crowley came to, because the man hummed to himself and immediately returned to his legal pad to jot notes.

"Dean, please take your clothes off." Crowley said, returning his attention to them.

Dean remained defiant and pissed like a wet cat. "Not getting naked on command. I'm not your lap dog."

Crowley lifted a brow. "Very well, Dean. You can be forced into this. So if you want to be forcibly undressed—"

"Nooope!" Dean tried to stand again, but was cut short, forced harder into John's lap.

Dean's insistent wiggling was the right amount of stimulation against John's cock. Blood was starting to make his hard cock press against his jeans. Dean stopped moving the second he felt it and tried to adjust himself, so he wasn't right over John's shaft. John didn't allow it.

"I'm assuming Sam didn't tell you what my work entails." Crowley stuck the pen on top of his notepad and placed both on the side table. He leaned forward, looking studious and far too interested in his work. "I'm called in when the submissive becomes self-destructive and difficult to train."

To add emphasis to his statement, he took Dean by the wrist and for the world to see, showed Dean exactly what John already knew. The long, perfectly straight, white scars from wrist to inner elbow were not done from anything they hunted.

Crowley leaned into Dean's personal space and held his chin with his other hand. "See love, your brother told me about your cutting habits, how deep some of these cuts actually went. By the rights granted to me by the Bureau of Sub Health and Safety, I have every right to treat your issues as an extreme."

"Dad." It was a long, suffering, annoyed sound that he hadn't heard from Dean since his kid was still young enough to whine. "You can't be serious about this? I don't want to be trained into submission."

John motioned for Sam to let his brother go. Dean didn't try jerking away. His attention was fully on Crowley.

"We're past the point in trying to reason this out. We're going to do this, and you need to give me your full trust. I've never left you alone in a fight. I'm your anchor," John said.

But he knew Dean had to come to that conclusion himself.


	6. Chapter 6

Crowley balanced a notepad across his thigh, but didn't jot notes. "He follows directions very thoroughly."

For the last two hours, Dean had followed every command perfectly. He took the spankings that were more exhausting to John, because Dean wouldn't slide into his headspace. He sat in a painful position, no pillows for his knees and didn't shift or budge from his spot. Every direction was met with cold, unyielding defiance. He did what he was told, but these lessons weren't meeting their intentional goals for the new sub.

Dean was clever. And though the sub's head was bowed and face stoic, he knew, without a doubt, that Dean was strategizing his escape. Or a way to get through this with the least amount of impact on his mental state.

John stroked the back of Dean's head. He'd be lying if he said this didn't affect him. There wasn't crotch space left at the front of his pants for how hard he was from staring at this submissive stance in Dean. "He has always followed orders. It's in his nature."  
And one day, he's going to realize this is where he belongs.

Dean leaned his head back against John's palm and his son's jaw tightened. It lasted a brief second, but it was the first real sign of submission. Dean tried so hard not to show this side. John wanted to grip his son's head and ravish that pert mouth until his lips were swollen and slick from the administration. He wanted Dean panting underneath him.

Great. His cock was so hard, he could cut glass. He really needed this to work for the both of them.

"I would like to move these lessons to a public location, work on some behaviors and observe the two of you," Crowley suggest. His attention drifted down to his notepad at last, jotting words, not sentences; voyeurism, public humiliation, public spanking, public blow job.

God. John really couldn't be any harder. It was starting to hurt and imagining Dean on his knees giving him a blow job… FUCK!

Dean straightened, and John's hand immediately slid back to cup his son's head. His other hand was on his child's shoulders to ensure that Dean didn't move. It felt wrong doing this in steps.

"Would the both of you excuse us?" John said. It wasn't a question and though Sam debated standing a second longer, they both finally left the room. John felt the exhaustion to his bones, so he could only guess what was going on in Dean's head. "Get naked, Dean. You're going to sit on me, facing out towards that large mirror."

"What?" Dean's chin shot upward. Anger brightened the green in his eyes, proof that none of these lessons held weight with him. They were no closer to helping Dean through his psychosis.

"I said, get naked. You're going to sit on my lap facing the mirror." The room was chilly, but that didn't stop him from kicking off his shoes and peeling his shirt over his head. He unclipped his belt buckle and pulled it through the straps, pleased with the way it drew Dean's attention to his crotch.

Pink rushed to Dean's cheeks, physically saying what his son couldn't admit. "I heard what you said. I want to know why."

"Because we both know you have an extensive amount of endurance when it comes it mind games. Don't make me repeat myself again, Dean. I'm not in the mood." John dropped his belt on the bed and unbuttoned his jeans.

Dean bit his bottom lip and focused his attention at the ground. "So, is this a new game? New rules?"

"Same game. You remember your safe word?" John stepped out of his jeans and brushed them to the side. He had to adjust his shaft trying to poke its way through the flap in his boxers. His brain begged for him to drop his last article of clothing and screw Dean the way he should've years ago. He didn't listen, because right now, his kid was too vulnerable, and sex wasn't the answer just yet.

Dean gave a half-hearted shrug, but didn't look up. "I don't know if I'm ready for this."

"I'm flexible. That's the joys of therapy in the household." John dropped into the old, cushioned chair that once sat in the nursey. It should've been a vast reminder at the age difference between Dean and him, but the chair's existence did little to sway how physically bad he wanted this physical relationship.

Dean finally stood and took his time looping his thumbs into the rim of his boxers and pulling them down, freeing his semi-hard cock. He took his time placing the boxers on the bed then when he couldn't drag it out any longer, he came over to stand in front of John. Still, he waited, watching his son as Dean finally followed the instructions and sat down on him. His son's weight and body heat felt amazing against his shaft. He adjusted himself again, so that he rested along the cleft of Dean's ass.

"What if I say my word right now? Will this be over?" The question was strained.

"Yes, but that's not what you really want." He eased Dean to rest against his chest. His kid's body heat spread over his torso and he gently stroked along the younger hunter's arms.

Dean didn't fuss or try to move away. Signs that his body enjoyed the light teasing caress, were immediate with the way he nearly went boneless, resting his full weight against John. He recognized a touch starved sub when he saw one. It was too bad Dean was so self-destructive. The kid brought this on himself. They needed to work on Dean speaking up when he needed this.

"Why me?" Dean's voice was small and riddled with self-doubt.

He wondered the same; why did Dean chose him as his dom. "Because you're a remarkable man. I'd be an idiot to pass you up, Dean."

And a remarkable submissive needed a remarkable dom. Dean needed someone who understood his every behavior. A dom that knew exactly how to align that intelligent mind with its oh-so-gorgeous body.

John nuzzled Dean's temple and the younger hunter allowed it without shifting. He brushed his lips against Dean's ear and to his surprise, Dean tilted his head silently requesting more. John took this opportunity to nip and suck at Dean's skin, tasting his son the way he'd always wanted to. He moved his hands downward to explore Dean's washboard abs.

He bit harder at Dean's throat, under the collar where neck met shoulder, watching the way his son's stomach muscles tightened. He audibly sighed, opening his knees barely an inch with the heels of his feet propped on the edge of the chair. John rubbed lower, enjoying the feel of Dean's trimmed hair against fingers. His kid was pretty impressive at half-mast, not as big as him in girth and size, but notable.

He drew his other hand up, playing his fingers over Dean's pert nipples. He couldn't wait to roll those between his lips and tongue the sweet little nub into hardness. As if Dean felt his thoughts, his kid shuddered. He took that as permission and wrapped his fingers around Dean's shaft.

"Dad…." It sounded like a plea.

He shifted Dean a little higher up, so he could get a better grip on his body. The movement caused the younger hunter's legs to open more, giving him access to reach lower and cup his sac. They were warm and heavy, proper for a man. He gave the sac a gentle pull, feeling the individual nuts just underneath the warm skin. Dean's back arched as he gave a low, guttural moan.

To his surprise, his kid shifted in his arms again, so that he could reach back and slip his hand behind John's head to direct John's mouth to his. He hungrily took the offer, kissing Dean. His son went still before catching John's wrists to make him slow. He held his breathe and silently prayed that Dean wouldn't use his safe word, not when his kid was so close.

"Orgasm for me, Dean. Let go and orgasm." John huffed against Dean's mouth.

"I can't. It's… It's just…"

He stopped Dean with a kiss that locked their mouths. He licked and sucked at Dean's mouth, willing Dean not to use his safe word. Dean's body grew tense. He was thinking now and he didn't want his son to think about anything but him and orgasm. He held a little tighter, stroked a little faster, just the way he liked it when he jacked-off. He gave a small twist at the tip and drew his hand back down.

Dean's hold on his wrists tightened and he curved his back again. His hips started to meet John's hand, working himself against his grip. With every movement, the cleft of his ass parted enough to sandwich John's shaft, giving him warmth and friction. He wanted to pull his boxers off too, but he didn't dare lose his grip on Dean. If he gave Dean an inch, his kid would find a way out of this situation, just like the many times before.

"Daddy," Dean moaned. His breath hitched, his balls were starting to ride up.

"Do it. I'm right here. I'll hold you like this forever," he promised against his son's ear.

Dean's stomach tightened as he moaned. His movements were erratic, trying to chase John's hand every time he was at the tip, as if he was afraid the pressure would leave. His movement stroked John in return and he felt the tightness in his stomach building. Like red-hot electric currents that sparked with static. Dean shouted as hot semen shot out over his stomach in sticky, white ropes.

John's orgasm hit too, nearly blinding him with the fierceness in which Dean dry humped him, but this was different. The visual added more stimulation. Maybe even the shift in position was to blame for how long and hard this orgasm hit. Still, John milked his son's shaft until he rode the last of his orgasm and became boneless in his arms.

The silence stretched until Dean started to squirm. This was the guilt. This was what John had to get his son to let go, because this was when he ran off.

John held him a second longer, kissing his jaw and his child allowed it. "Go get clean and meet me out in the living room."

"I don't want to see anyone." Dean protested, but he did sit up the second John loosened his grip.

Dread set heavily in his stomach watching Dean make his way to the bathroom, skin red where he fiercely rubbed himself against his dad. His movements were a little too quick, too desperate to put space between them. So John followed him into the bathroom, taking stalk of the razors from his shavers and how full the medicine cabinet was of emergency pain meds. Dean had tried before, and failed. Not in this household, but if his scars were anything to go by, leaving his kid alone, trusting that his kid wouldn't do something devastating, was too much to ask.

"John?" Dean grabbed a towel to hide his body. Yeah, this was panic mode. He'd seen this every time Dean was done with the closeness thing.

John shot him a disapproving glance, but said nothing as he reached in and set the water temperature for something they could both enjoy. He finished stripping his wet boxers, his skin still painted with a great deal of his semen. When Dean hadn't moved, he found his patience rock solid and empathy holding strong. "You messed up a clean towel, kid. Now get in the shower."

"You're planning to shower with me!" It wasn't a question. It was Dean being affronted by the very thought.

"We've showered before and frankly, nothing I haven't seen before," John continued. His stomach growled, making him a little less patient, but he didn't want to rush this. He trained his kid to be a hunter and he would train his kid to be a sub.

After a handful of minutes in a staring competition, Dean finally dropped the towel and slid into the shower first. He stood under the water and John waited to join him until his kid started making the movements to clean his body. The hot water and his prior orgasm made him sluggish. When he was done showering, he waited, without being told, for John to finish.

When the water was shut off and they were both toweling the dampness off their skin, John stole a glance at Dean. He was hard to read like this, apathetic again, but the tension wasn't in his body. It was hard to say how Dean was taking this. If it'd been just the two of them, continuing the way they had, Dean would've disappeared in a heartbeat. At least now, he could keep an eye on him, watch him if he started to drown in his own darkness.

"I'm hungry. I'll fix us something if Sam hasn't already," John said. At the mention of food, he could smell a hint of something savory in the air, but it was light enough to be something microwaved hours ago.

Dean blushed. "That's kind of weird, isn't it? I mean, they probably know…"

John got dressed, allowing Dean the same as before, a fresh pair of boxers, a clean set of pajama bottoms and no shirt. Dean lingered by the bed, staring at the doorway as if he expected something horrible to walk through.

"I'm hungry and it will give you a chance to adjust to our new roles," John answered. Even as he spoke, he wanted to pull Dean back into the bed, to take their relationship a step farther. As long as there wasn't love and emotion in it, Dean would be okay. If he kept it a hundred percent physical… but that wouldn't work for him. He wanted Dean to look this sated emotionally and physically.

"Dad," the word fell from Dean's lips so easily now. He hugged his arms at his chest as if he could cover all that warm, muscular skin. It wouldn't have if this happened a few days before Sam and Professor Crowley had showed up. "I don't want to see anyone right now."

He caught his arm and pulled him over. Dean didn't scream out his safe word, so John pressed his mouth to his kid's lips and to his surprise, his kid didn't fight it. He opened his mouth and took his tongue, kissing back. As much as he wanted to see how far this would go, he pulled away first.

"You're so fucking gorgeous, Dean. I think the world should see you for who you really are. This doesn't make you a lesser being. You're still one of the best hunters I've had a chance to fight beside, but you need so much more to calm your energy. I'm going to be that person that keeps you level headed." It was more than a promise. It was an oath.

The black collar looked great around his neck and he didn't fuss about going out into the living room like this. In fact, he stayed surprisingly close to him, not touching, but so close that he could feel his kid's body heat.

Both men were in the kitchen, Crowley at the table writing in the yellow legal pad and Sam at the stove, cooking. The food smelled good too, which came as a surprise to him. He'd never thought his youngest would be so good in the kitchen.

"Hey." Sam's tone was inquisitive, despite not asking a question. He must have read it though. His face softened and he nodded to himself before eyeing John. "Everything went well?"

"Well enough," he answered, then motioned for Dean to take a seat at the table.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean sat on his knees with his hands behind his back and head against John's inner thigh. It was a beautiful sight. Dean's muscular form waited so compliant for the next turn of events. Patient and silent like some of the things they hunted. John would be an idiot if he didn't remain on guard. Dean wasn't helpless. He wasn't some little sub that would be easily thrown back into place. Dean needed hunters who could predict his every action, like they predicted the actions of the things they hunted.

Crowley said Dean needed medications and the hospital would be insistent. Subs that hurt themselves in the past were destined to go farther and farther with it every time. That unnerved John to his very core, but no one at that hospital would understand the kid like him and Sam. They weren't family. They wouldn't recognize the sheer level of horror the nightmares played in their sub's life. They might understand that most of Dean's actions came from fear of abandonment. They might even understand, rather quickly, that Dean needed a very firm hand.

He drew his fingers over Dean's head and down the muscle in his neck, surprised when Dean sighed into his thigh. His warm breath moistened John's skin. He pushed the pads of his fingers in deeper, massaging Dean's muscles until his eldest lost the last of his tension. He drew his fingers down, catching Dean under the jaw and lifting his head so they could look at each other. To his utter surprise, Dean's green eyes were hazed; his pupils dilated, lips parted and ready to kiss.

"Baby," John hissed, leaning down and kissing those lips. He didn't have to catch Dean's shoulders to force him to stay. His kid remained where he sat between John's legs, allowing his tongue to slide between his lips and into his mouth.

Dean kissed back, hesitant at first, but then he leaned in hungry for John's mouth. John gave it to him, holding the back of his head so he could keep his son positioned for his tongue and his kid swallowed the kisses, making nearly silent mewing sounds. Dean's hands came up to rest on John's thighs, near enough to his crotch to make the world nearly spin out from under John. The touch was so intimate.

"Dean." He pulled back and waited for the haze to clear from Dean's eyes. It didn't. Not fully anyway. His son was so lost. "We need to move to the next step."

Dean sat back on his heels and quickly sobered. His eyes fell to John's chest, then his crotch and when he realized that he was staring at John's massive hardness, he quickly looked away. "What does that mean?"

"Dean, we both know you need the closeness," John said. He didn't reach for his son. There wasn't much room between them, but he felt every centimeter of distance as if it were a canyon he would have to jump over to get to Dean. That trench was made deeper with the mental state his submissive son occupied.

Dean didn't dare look at him. "This is a little weird, isn't it? We work together."

"It's been heading in this direction for years. It's time we work these issues out," John said. He reached into his boxer folds and pulled his rigid shaft and balls out. He was so hard that it jutted upward, the mushroom tip brushed against his stomach.

Dean bit his lower lip, shy again. The blush creeped over his cheeks. He looked so young like this, so self-conscious and insecure. John waited, wondering if he would have to lean forward and pull Dean back in between his thighs. Instead, he waited with his hands on the armrest, digging deep for that inner patience.

It was strange watching the second Dean seemed to come to terms with this. He leaned back in, filling the space between John's open thighs. His long fingers curled around John's shaft, but there was still room between his fingers, making it impossible for him to close his fist. He leaned in, opening his mouth and taking his first tentative lick. John clenched his teeth, determined not to make even a sound, in case that was all it took to break Dean's willingness to submit without force.

Dean pulled back, saliva and precoma leaving John's tip glistening. "Da-daddy."

His green eyes were hazed again as he tried this word out. It was beautiful coming from cock sucking, swollen lips. He leaned in again, going lower this time to lick on John's balls. He could only pull one nut in his mouth at a time. Watching his kid with his mouth full did little for his constraint. He was so heavy with the desire to shoot his load, but he shoved it down.

Instead, he pushed his hands into Dean's short hair, pushing the strands back and massaging his head. His son found this encouraging and mewed softly, sucking on his balls as if he got something from it. He continued stroking his son's head, letting him explore his personal desires.

Jesus. It was clear. Dean had a virgin mouth.

Dean finally let go of his balls and returned to licking stripes up the underside of his shaft.

"You're doing so good Dean. It feels really nice, son." The flood gates again threatened to open. This was what he'd wanted from his son for years now, a trusting and intimate relationship that would bridge the gap that he saw Dean constantly struggle with. They both needed the closeness, to know that the other was alive, especially after returning from the more detrimental hunts.

The soft sucking filled the quiet. John opened his eyes when the eerie sense of being watched pulled at his conscious. Sam and Crowley stood in the open doorway. Crowley nodded with professional approval, then both men disappeared back into the living room.

"I need… I need to taste you." Dean murmured this against John's tip, not daring to look up at him.

He had no intention of coming down his son's throat, but he felt Dean's need straight to the core of his being and in truth, he was so close. He'd been starving off the orgasm, riding it's peak and forcing it back down with every hot pull of Dean's lips. He sighed, feeling his resolve crumbling. "I'm so close, kid. Just keep doing what you're doing."

Dean could only get a quarter of him in. His shaft stretched Dean's mouth wide, yet his kid was determined to swallow him, which left his eyes watering. He took Dean's free hand and directed his fingers to wrap around the part of his shaft that he couldn't swallow. It took one stroke for his son to understand the silent direction. His strong fingers rubbed over his hot skin, coming up to meet where his mouth stopped before going back down towards his base.

John licked his lips and focused his concentration. The heat in his stomach was building. His balls were drawing up. "Dean… Dean, I'm going to come."

Dean braced his legs and leaned in as if he were afraid John would pull him away. He put a reassuring hand on Dean's head, guiding his motion, meeting the need in which the pressure slid straight through the sensitive glands on the head of his shaft like lightening. The impulse was quick. He threw his head back aware that he still cradled Dean's head against his shaft as he shot sperm into his eldest's mouth.

The tension in his body softened and he stroked Dean's head as his son tentatively licked at his sperm and saliva covered shaft. Dean was perfect like this. The tension in his shoulders were gone. He gave himself a mission and that was to please his master. In turn, that gave his son comfort.

"Get on the bed." John ordered.

Dean's eyes went wide when he shot John a look of disbelief. "What?"

"It's okay, Dean. We're going slow, remember," John said. "It's just me. I've trained you in everything. You can trust me."

Dean nodded but remained hesitant as he slowly rose to his feet and made the extremely small strides over to the bed. He stared at it for a second, as if trying to decide something before he crawled onto it and flopped onto his back. His shaft was hard, pressed up against his belly. His eyes were shut and hands at angles, so his wrists were by his head. His eyes were winced shut and his stomach was so tight that it looked like he was holding his breath.

"You're going to enjoy this, Dean," John promised. He slid between his kid's thighs and with more experience than Dean, wrapped his fingers around his shaft and immediately enjoyed the weight and heat condensed into this organ meant for breeding. He licked along the bottom, mapping out the thick, purple veins that pressed against his skin.

Dean jerked with surprise but didn't try to stop him. John licked over his slit, then swallowed his son's mushroom tip, licking and sucking, determined that Dean was going to orgasm. Dean's stomach tightened, and he groaned when John slid his mouth all the way down, far more experienced. Dean watched him with heavy eyes and wet lips parted. He looked wrecked.

Precome coated the back of his throat as he worked Dean over with his mouth. His son's hips jerked upward as he tried to control himself.

John pulled completely off his cock with an obscene pop that made Dean blush and close his eyes, so their gaze wouldn't meet. He was so red in the cheeks and over his bare chest. It was adorable, but his kid wasn't ready for the dirty talk. They were barely brushing the surface.

He rubbed circles on Dean's thighs, trying to work the tension from his body. He was so close if his breathing had any bearing on his impending orgasm. He kissed and licked below Dean's sac and to his surprise, Dean's entire body pressed into his face, wanting more. "I want to open you, but we won't go much farther than my finger, okay."

Dean didn't immediately answer. "Why do you have to say it like that?"

John chuckled. "I want us to be on the same page, kid, and sometimes, I'm not so sure we're even reading the same book."

Dean bit his bottom lip, then turned his face to the wall. "Yeah."

"Yeah?" John probed.

Dean sighed and opened his legs a little more. His shaft was so tight that it nearly crawled the length of his flat stomach. "Yes, okay? Just… just do it and stop talking about it."

John chuckled again, giving Dean's shaft a quick stroke before licking two of his fingers and pressing one at the tight rim of muscle. Dean immediately tightened, on guard and pressing back against the invasion. John sucked his son's balls, drawing them into his mouth again, tasting the skin and feeling the pure heat and weight of his testicles. Dean's muscles immediately went lax and John took the opportunity to press his index finger through the first ring of muscle.

Dean moaned. "Daddy—"

It was barely a sound, but he heard it and continued working the warm muscle into looseness. When he added his second finger, Dean nearly doubled, moaning so loud, there was no way his guests didn't hear that. John moved back to his son's cock, licking the precome off the slit.

"I'm— I'm too… too close. You need to know—"

John couldn't believe how flustered and prude his kid was. They'd seen practically everything; every sickness, sometimes overhearing the other masturbate during the night, the ups and downs of emotions and heated arguments, still, Dean was so embarrassed by this. This very thing that he sought John out for but always held back on.

John pushed him back against the mattress. "It's okay baby. I'm right here. Do it."

Dean shook his head. "It's… I don't think you should be—"

"I want to taste you, kid. I've wanted to do this for a couple of years now." John soothed. With one big hand on Dean's stomach and the other around Dean's thigh to keep his legs open, he waited until his kid sunk back into the mattress, relaxed.

"Why?" Dean finally asked. His body was too far gone to lose the massive hardness he sported. He wouldn't need much encouragement now.

"Because you're my best friend," John admitted before sinking back down into the mattress.

He felt Dean go lax again and took the opportunity to sink both fingers into his kid's ring of muscle. It would take three fingers to really open him up for John's cock, but this was a start. Dean's hips raised, meeting John's mouth as he returned to sucking. Dean's stomach tightened, and his fingers dug into the mattress. He threw his head back and groaned, spurting his salty load into John's mouth.

John swallowed and continued gently milking Dean's orgasm until there was nothing else to take. He came up to his son's side and wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him up against him. Dean wasn't a small guy, but he looked small compared to his own broadness. In Dean's post-orgasmic bliss, he allowed the cuddling, be it very short.

Dean shifted ever so slightly, drawing deeper into the arms that braced him. "I need water."

John managed a very small squeeze that could be considered a hug before he rolled out of bed, surprised when Dean did too. They dressed in silence with Dean stopping with just his boxers. He hugged himself, looking nervous, but not overly uncomfortable.

"How are you feeling?" John stayed within reach, but didn't try to pull Dean in. There was so much to work on, but he had to give a few small props to the fact that Dean didn't try to run out of the house screaming.

Dean shrugged. He was so vulnerable like this. "Fine."

John chuckled and Dean's head shot up, eyes confused at first before narrowing. Everything inside him wanted to reach out and ruffle his kid's short hair, but he restrained from the strong desire. "One day when you say you're fine, you'll actually mean it."

Dean tilted his head to stare at his dad. The barest hint of a smirk on his lips. "I'm looking forward to it."


End file.
